


5 Times Bucky Cried Alone And 2 Times He Didn't Have To

by Dulcia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Comfort, Fluff, M/M, captainamerica - Freeform, steve rogers - Freeform, wintersoldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6267334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcia/pseuds/Dulcia





	5 Times Bucky Cried Alone And 2 Times He Didn't Have To

5 times Bucky cried alone and twice when he didn't have to. 

1\. 1941 September

Bucky hated this. He hated the cold sleeping bags that made him feel wrapped up and ready for death. He hated the dooming fear of Nazis taking him away and he hated the gun shots in the distance as he tried sleeping at the barracks. He hated the lack of food and he hated how Steve was miles and miles away and he had no easy way to communicate with him. 

He lay awake in his sleeping bag, looking up at the clouded sky, almost forgetting what the night sky looked like as it was always covered in a thick layer of smoke, steam and gunpowder and God only knows what else. He just wanted to raise his arm and wipe away the smog like wiping away the moisture off the windows that collected in the morning at his and Steve's flat. 

Steve would watch him from the bed with a tired smile and tousled hair and Bucky would wink at him as he stared breakfast in their tiny flat that allowed hardly any movement at all. The kitchen was also the living room and the bedroom was also the dining room and their toilet was a communal one which was cleaned every five months and the shower and bath was cleaned every week thanks to Steve's pet peeve of standing where other people's naked dirty feet stood. 

Bucky's throat hurt at the memories, remembering how he found Steve on his hands and knees one day, scrubbing the metal bath. "What ya doing, buddy?" He asked. 

"Cleaning out this bath, it's goddamn awful and to think other people's asses have touched the bottom of this. Makes me sick, Buck." He had ranted. Bucky's face crumpled at that, his eyes burning painfully as he clenched them shut, allowing the tears to fall down his cheeks and his chest bump up and down as he sobbed quietly, raising his hand up to the sky, waving it around as if he was wiping away the moisture on the Windows that had collected in the morning. 

2\. 1941 February 

"One oh seventh." Bucky whispered to himself, looking at his scratchy, swamp green uniform in the dirty mirror of his and Steve's apartment. Steve had gone out somewhere. He had said something about seeing a movie and then getting himself some food, maybe looking for a job. Bucky didn't know, he was too distracted by the army uniform he had been adorned with. He tightened his tie around his throat, lifted the belt a little higher up his torso and petted his hands down his sides. 

Part of him was proud of himself. He felt strong, he felt powerful, he felt attractive yet he felt bad for feeling all that when he knew what he was going out to do tomorrow. He put his hat on top of his head, cocking it gently to the side and standing up straight, taking a look at himself once more. Something about it made him feel an overwhelming feeling of fear. "Sergeant James Barnes."

He threw himself on the rickety dining room chair that would take Steve's weight easily only underneath his, the chair creaked and groaned. He took the hat off his head, his eyes blurring as he looked at the hat, telling himself that he was going to come home and that he will be brave until then, that he will use Steve as motivation to continue to move on. 

His tears dripped steadily down his cheeks as he made quiet sniffling sounds in the lonely flat, looking at his and Steve's single beds that they had pushed together to share body heat in the cold winter months. He whined when he realised that Steve would have no one to share body heat with as he fought of pneumonia or just a common cold. He let his shallow cries break into sobs as he held the hat in his hands, crushed together while his shoulders shook. 

He leaned over the table, wiping his hands over his face and shutting his eyes before falling asleep in his chair. An hour later, he woke up with slightly less swollen eyes and flushed cheeks. He splashed water on his face, shoving the hat over his head and leaving the apartment to find Steve being beat up in an alley by the theatre. 

3\. 1941 May 

Bucky had been serving for about four months. Patiently waiting for letters from Steve as his fellow soldiers shared stories of their lives back at home for probably the fortieth time since being shipped out. He played with the mesh on his helmet, twirling it around his fingers as the fire crackles at their base camp, the distant sound of bombs and gunshots about five miles away which sent shivers down his spine. "What about you, Bucky. Never heard no stories of your life back home," Dum Dum said. Bucky snorted, putting the helmet on his head. 

"Yeah, um. I have someone back home. Brooklyn," Bucky answered, smiling gently, seeing Steve in his mind. 

"Ooh, go on then Sarge!" Gabe cheered. Bucky chuckled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He sat there thoughtfully, frowning slightly. 

"Her name," he paused, "her name is Stephanie. Short, blonde. Bright blue eyes and a good hand for drawing." He said, feeling himself warm up as he thought of Steve. The boys all made kissy noises before going on to talking about something else. Bucky looked around the small fire, standing to his feet and looking at the clouded sky before walking back to his tent. Luckily, being a sergeant and because of the lack of men on site, he had the two bedded tent to himself. He took off his heavy pants and coat, leaving him in his undershirt, keeping his boots by his bed and his helmet before climbing into his bedroll and hiding under the heavy material. 

He shut his eyes, letting his thoughts run wild. He felt his hands shake as he rested it under his head, his legs feeling weak under the sheets as his eyes burned. No, Barnes. Not again. He told himself. He hated when he cried. He though of himself as a soldier, fighting in World War Two who was supposed to be strong mentally and physically and he felt like he was lacking the two. He took a deep breath, feeling the first two years fall down his cheeks before they all came at once, making him sniffle and snort under his bedroll. 

4\. 1941 November 

Steve was alive. And he was big. Steve was alive and he was big?! Muscles and six pack and thighs! Bucky's mind was going a mile a minute when he was out of the hydra base and able to see and think coherent things. Semi-coherent that was. He and Steve walked at the front of the crowd, leading the way back to their base camp and to safety and medics. 

Bucky felt weak. His legs jelly, his mind felt warped, distant almost. It was weird. He felt like his veins were burning and his brain was buzzing yet it was lethargic and tired all at the same time. One minute his eyes would be dropping and the second he'd feel like he had one too many coffees that morning. This felt like the crash before the next zing of adrenaline kicked in and made him want to run for miles so instead, he focused on the feeling and weight of his gun in his hand, the sound of everyone's footsteps mushing against the mud. He listened to Steve talk to another soldier, talking about any recent baseball scores before he got shipped off to Italy. 

Bucky smiled lazily, listening to Steve's gentle voice that seemed to sound like he was in a fish tank, watching the outside world. He frowned as his feet took him to the left and out the path of all the soldiers before he collapsed on the floor, hearing Steve shout his name, ordering all the men to take a break where they were since they had been walking for so long and that if Bucky had collapsed then all the others must be getting tired. "Buck," said Steve. 

Bucky looked up at Steve, seeing two Steve's. He giggled and leaned his backwards into Steve's large hand that was supporting the back of his skull so it wasn't on the hard ground. "'M fine, Stevie. Jus' give me a minute." He slurred, sitting up as his vision went back to normal. He looked around him and steve, taking in the scene of all the battered and hurt men before he felt the pain in his own body again, remembering the torture he had been put through. He didn't know for how long, during his time on that bed, the days and time all merged together. 

He looked at Steve, seeing his large caring blue eyes, strong jaw line and the healthy glow to his face which made his face crumple and chest cave in. He fell forwards, having Steve catch him and hold him to his chest. He sobbed into the mans large chest, feeling the unfamiliarity but smelling that same old smell of soap and distinctive smell of Steve Rogers. He clutched onto his battered leather coat, his cries echoing around the surrounding area but no other soldiers paying attention... as far as he was aware anyway. 

"God, what did they do to you, Buck?" Steve whispered, his arm around Bucky's neck and the other hand cradling his head to his chest. 

"Ste-Steve," he whined, climbing closer to Steve and throwing his arms around him, feeling all of Steve's new body through his clothes whilst still blubbering. "I didn't get a letter for mo-months. I-I thought y-you died." He sobbed. 

Steve laughed through his nose. "It's gonna take a lot to get rid of me now, Buck." He laughed, not knowing how true that statement would become. 

5\. 2014 

The soldier looked down at the American flag adorned man, watching the water spill from his throat and the bruising seemingly get worse by the second. His mission time had run out. He no longer had to kill this man called Captain America. He didn't want to go back to Pierce, he didn't want that. He remembered a chair and a headache and that was about it before he woke up to be told that his target was Captain America. 

The soldier watched the blonde man cough, even more water spilling from his lips before turning around and walking away from the man, feeling something but not knowing that feeling. He didn't know what memories or feelings felt like. Did he even know the names for them? 

He sighed and held his right arm to his stomach as it throbbed. This so called Captain really did a number on him. He limped away into the shrubbery as a helicopter flew overhead. He watched from behind as the aircraft landed, four people jumping out and running to Steve. 

The red headed one, knelt to his side, checking his pulse before shouting to the man dressed in black, the woman with the jaw and the man with the wings, "he's alive. It's weak but he's alive!" 

"Any eyes on the soldier?" The man in black asked. 

"No sir," the others answered before the soldier himself snuck back and deeper into the shrubbery. He looked behind him, seeing how the Captains lifeless body was being carried away by some new strangers before a sharp pain in his head warped his brain. He blinked over and over as the green and brown if the woodland disappeared and became an alley in New York. 

"Steve, pal." He whispered. He was in slacks and a baggy white t-shirt that had been tucked into his pants. "You gotta stop pickin' fights." 

"I don't pick fights Bucky. These people initiate it. Who am I to back down? Jus' cus I'm tiny and speak my mind don't make me any less human than others." He spat, wiping his nose on the back of his hand before the other man, Bucky, gave him a handkerchief and put it to the skinny guys nose and holding it there. 

"I know, I'm real sorry but you gotta stop. It worries me half to death at the docks. God knows what woulda' happened if I wasn't here earlier." He said, patting Steve's small shoulder. 

"I know, I know but I can take care of myself." 

"I believe ya, pal." Bucky smiled. 

Slowly but surely, the soldiers eyesight came back, leaving him with tears down his cheeks and his breathing at a fast pace. He needed to go, he needed to hide from the others. The bad guys who gave him a metal arm and the worst case of amnesia going. 

6\. 2015 January 

Bucky never left New York which was a risk in itself. He stayed around the edges of the cities, laying in various different ditches not too far from the highways and sometimes he would stay in the thin tunnels of the subway where it was dark and no one could see him. 

He hated it. He stunk but it wasn't something he was unfamiliar with. Bucky was a mess. His hands shook when he tried thinking about hydra or any of the bad memories that he had remembers (which were most of them) and his legs and arms felt weak when he tried to move from any of his positions from lack of sleep, lack of food, lack of water. There had been many times he thought to himself that he would just go find a ditch and see how long it'd take for him to die there but then he remembered that Steve was somewhere to be found, even though he had no clue where. 

Bucky's hair was now shoulder length. He could just about feel the tickle of the tips of it if he took off his shirt which was hardly ever. His face felt greasy and grimy and he felt sweaty and confined in his clothes. He shivered in the cold January weather, watching New York from a safe enough distance and often seeing iron man flying around in his suit. He only recognised him from Hydra debriefing and how he was dangerous, how to engage in a fight if he initiates it but he didn't want to anymore. He lay low until he decided to walk towards the inner city, it took a while but when he got there, he felt lost and isolated even with hundreds of people passing by. 

People stared at his dirty appearance, looking him up and down as he or they passed him. He heard nasty slurs and suffered some people shoulder barging him whilst saying, "Fuckin' hobos should just die already."

He decided he hated New York. And the people in it. 

He put his hands in his pocket, walking through Times Square, trying to find a familiar route to his and Steve's flat regardless of it was still there or not. 

It wasn't. 

There has been a fancy hotel built on top of where it was and that was enough to set Bucky off. All the memories, all the soft gentle words and huddling together in the cold, the measuring of medication for Steve's small body to be able to cope with the amount he'd take in. Bucky covered his mouth with his hand, walking back towards a small alley and taking refuge in the dark privacy of the place and wrapped his coat tighter around his body as he cried, the chilling air tickling the back of his neck and making his hair fly around his thin face. He snorted and snivelled unattractively in the quiet of the alley, only hearing the woosh of cars and the chatter of the people of New York. 

He tilted to the side so he was laying on his metal shoulder as he brought his knees to his chest and sobbed, letting himself cry to sleep. 

7\. 2015 June

Once again, he woke up disorientated and panicked. He found himself on the bed this time. The bed that Tony Stark had offered him to sleep in. It wasn't often that he slept in it as he slept on the floor much more often so when he woke up on the bed, he was confused. He looked at his bare arms, seeing bruises and bite marks all up his forearm and bicep. He breathed shallower as he touched them with his metal finger, feeling a dull throb before he slammed his hands on the bed but then hearing a groan from besides him. 

He turned slowly, his arms tensed as he looked over the mans body, seeing the tufts of messy blonde hair, big broad shoulders and strong back muscles. Bucky pulled him over with his metal arm, waking the man up before he straddled him, putting his metal arm on the side of his neck and his other arm around his shoulders as if he was going to snap his neck in one swift motion. "Buck! Bucky! It's okay, you're name is Bucky Barnes." The man shouted, his eyes frantic as he looked back at him. His arms tensed around him, making the man talk faster. "It's 2015 and you're in New York. I'm Steve! Steve Rogers and I love you. You're my best friend. Try to think, pal." He said. 

Bucky looked at him emotionlessly before the same familiar pain like brain freeze shot through his skull. He had flashes of the night before, the feelings only Steve made him feel before his face crumpled and he turned his hands on himself, crying into the palms of his hands. "Babe, hey." Steve whispered, his hands going to Bucky's naked thighs and rubbing them gently as he fell forward onto Steve's chest, his head still in his hands as big calloused hands rubbed his naked back as he cried loudly. 

"How can I help, Captain." Jarvis' voice said through the speakers. 

"Play some calm music, Jarvis, please." Steve said quietly as Bucky cried uncontrollably, his body heaving under Steve's hands. It had been the first time he had cried in front of Steve since he was found in January by Tony. In that alley by the hotel. Music drifted through the speakers, the gentle voice of Elvis Presley sounding in the room. "Focus on his voice, Buck." Steve hummed as Bucky hiccuped. 

Bucky tried listening over his forceful cries, breathing in Steve's warm smell and moving his hands from his face, putting his metal one on his chest and his right around Steve's neck but in a much more loving way. Steve leaned into it, taking his hand from Bucky's back and placing it gently on his cheek, stroking his thumb to take away his tears. Bucky let a couple more tears fall his cheeks, leaning in and placing a soft kiss to his lips before nudging his nose into the side of his neck. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, breathing shakily as Steve turned his head to press kisses to his temple, cheekbone and cheek. 

"It's okay, I love you. You don't have to cry alone anymore."


End file.
